Stops

I am an inventor and my time is money, money, money. No, I won't be blogging for you! Don't ask.

I am an inventor, and I'm working on a new way to brake a bicycle.

(I like to ride a bicycle.)

The brake shoes are shaped like people. They are men and they are women—some of each. They desire to be with the wheel. But, they are repressing their desire for the wheel.

The grip, though, makes the walls built around their desire split and crash and turn to dust on the ground around them. The grip brings the brake shoes together with the wheel.

And, briefly, they are happy. They are without shame. They are in the moment, unrestricted. They are happy. They stop your bicycle.

And then they feel shame. And then they retreat. And your bicycle moves on.

Sadly, they don't know that on the opposite side of the wheel, they have a rival.

Sadly, they don't know that the wheel only desires its turning, and its connection to the pavement. It is only humoring the silly, repressed brake shoes.

***

Today is the birthday of Amy Hempel. She wrote this sentence:

"The house next door was rented for the summer to a couple who swore at missed croquet shots."